A Town Called Noelle Read online

  Brooke’s ears pricked, and she sat up straight—someone looking for her? Surely it couldn’t be…

  “…oh, all right then, sure, I’ll tell her—I’m sure she’ll be delighted… Yes, I’ll see you then. You too… G’night.”

  Janet reappeared with a broad smile. “That was Margie O’Connell,” she said. “She says she spoke to you at Karen’s memorial?”

  “Oh. Um, yes, I remember.” A lot of people had spoken to Brooke that day, but Margie was memorable. A tiny, indomitable old woman, she was the sole remaining resident of Highfield’s next-door house Ardmachree—though “next door” was a strong term for two homes with so much ground around them. She had talked Brooke’s ear off about Karen, about the changes to the town over the years, about her own comings and goings, completely oblivious to Brooke’s lack of interest bordering on discomfort.

  “She wanted to let you know she’s sorry you’re snowed in as she knows you wanted to get home, but you’re still very welcome to come to her Christmas Soirée. She sounded very pleased you’d be in town after all,” Janet added. “I think she misses your mother.”

  “A lot of people do,” Brooke muttered.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Nothing. I, um, guess I could go along to say hi. It’s not like I have anything else to do. I don’t have anything fancy to wear, though, just the outfit I wore for the funeral.”

  “Oh, nobody dresses up for Margie’s shindig these days—certainly not in this weather!” Janet said with a wave of her hand. “I’m sure she’ll just be happy you’ve come.”

  “Okay then. What time are you heading over? Should we go together?”

  Janet lifted her eyebrows. “Sure,” she said, her tone unreadable.

  “All right, great. I’m…going to head to my room.” Brooke stood, a little unsteadily. “Goodnight.”

  “Sleep well.”

  Three Days till Christmas

  “So there are pizzas for dinner for both of you, and everything’s where it usually is. Bedtime is between eight and eight fifteen, lights off eight thirty. She’s reading now, usually, but she might want to chat about your day instead. We good?”

  “I’m good. You good, Stinky?”

  Maya giggled explosively. “That is not my name!”

  Tyler did his best “confused” face. “Huh. I could’ve sworn your name was Stinky, I dunno why I thought that…”

  “Mom, make him stop.”

  Holly laughed. “Ohhh no, you two are stuck with one another now. I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart. Thanks again, Tyler. I shouldn’t be too late provided I escape Margie’s late-night whist ring—wish me luck!”

  The roads were treacherous but passable, so long as you drove very, very slowly. Holly was used to the conditions and crawled her way past Highfield House, leaning close to the steering wheel to peer out of the windshield.

  A scattering of cars lined the drive and the road in front of it, with other guests trudging on foot along the road and up the steep drive to Ardmachree’s brightly lit facade. Holly pulled up behind a dirty 4x4 and then sat behind the wheel for a moment, steeling herself. She would usually look forward to a night out like tonight, but with everything going on right now…she probably would have skipped, except it was Margie, and you didn’t skip Margie’s at Christmas.

  “Holly, honey! Now Christmas can begin!” Margie somehow managed to sound like a woman twice her size, even over the hubbub of an already bustling party. “Come in, come in, it’s blowing up a storm out there…”

  “No kidding—I thought I was gonna lose a toe on the way up the drive!”

  “Some eggnog?”

  “Just the one—I’m driving.”

  Firmly ensconced with a glass of eggnog, Holly said her hellos and caught up with people she hadn’t seen for a few days, due to the disruption of the weather. It was an eclectic mix at Margie’s parties—family, friends, near-strangers she’d taken a liking to. The eggnog was free flowing, the record player loaded with oldies, and Margie was in her element, fluttering around and somehow finding a way to make everyone feel welcome and attended to. All in all, there were worse ways Holly could’ve spent the evening…at least until Brooke arrived.

  More than her all-black attire made her stand out. Brooke looked distinctly uncomfortable among the other partygoers, even though this gathering must have been a paltry shindig compared to what she was used to in the city. She’d arrived with Janet Pieszecki, which made sense given that according to Greg she was staying at Janet’s B and B, but Janet had peeled off almost immediately to join a gaggle of folks she knew, leaving Brooke to fend for herself.

  Margie made her move within a minute, zeroing in on Brooke and subjecting her to her own unique brand of company. Holly observed the exchange from her position on the couch, half an eye on it while Danny Jackson regaled her with tales from his past couple of days fighting a losing battle against snowdrifts. As painful as her brother-in-law’s recent experiences sounded, Holly wasn’t sure they were quite as uncomfortable as Brooke looked right at this moment, her mother’s old friend clutching her arm as she spoke, her expression intent.

  Holly was torn. On the one hand, there was nothing she wanted more than to see Brooke Hawkins suffer. She was quite possibly ruining Holly’s livelihood and didn’t even seem to care. Holly watched Brooke beginning to fold in on herself, arms wrapped defensively around her middle, her discomfort and isolation acute as she nodded along to Margie, who was hearty company at the best of times but to make matters worse was probably now telling some story or other about Karen, oblivious to the fact she was the last person Brooke wanted to hear about.

  Yet even as she told herself it served her right—Brooke didn’t deserve friends to save her from being “Margied” and it was only fair she should be a social pariah if she hated Noelle so damn much—another feeling entirely warred in her gut, a thick, heavy feeling spreading slowly out across her limbs, setting off a strange ache inside her the longer she watched Margie’s monologue play out.

  Are you sorry for her? For Brooke Hawkins, the woman who’s literally doing her damnedest to ruin your life?

  It seemed she was.

  Holly was just starting to think about taking her leave and heading home when Brooke noticed her. Her reaction was almost comical: eyes wide, she turned around and tried to duck “out of sight” behind the wall of the dining nook and nearly collided with one of the antique chairs that was clearly there for looking at, not sitting in.

  Holly couldn’t help it. Despite the strange alchemy currently brewing inside her, she snorted with laughter.

  “Uh…what’d I say?”

  “Oh! Oh, Danny, I’m so sorry,” she said, turning her attention properly back to her brother and patting his knee. “I was laughing at Brooke Hawkins. We had the worst argument yesterday and she’s just noticed I’m here.”

  Danny smiled his “big brother” smile—even though he was younger than Holly. “Did you put your foot in it?”

  “That predictable, huh?”

  “Poor Brooke.”

  “Hey, hey, no ‘poor Brooke’.” Holly found in the moment only she was allowed to be moved to sympathy for her new landlord. “She’s evicting me, remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, but…” Danny made a face, shook his head. “Mph, never mind.”

  “No, what?”

  Danny sucked a whistling breath in through his teeth. “I dunno. We were in the same class, back at school, and she…” He shook his head. “I dunno.”

  “Very articulate, Danny.”

  “Hey, gimme a break, I’ve had a lot of Margie’s nog! I’m just sayin’…she always had a tough time of it.”

  “Yeah, real tough, living on the hill, winning all those track medals. Torture.”

  “Oh, says Miss Top of the Pyramid.” Holly directed an ineffectual thwack in the direction of Danny’s arm, and the pair tussled briefly. “
Look, all I’m saying is we never know what’s really going on with a person. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Holly snorted again—this time with derision. “Yeah. Right.”

  But Danny’s words stuck with her as she watched Brooke pull herself together and regain her cool, and when Brooke turned in an attempt an unobtrusive exit (well, as unobtrusive as a woman her height could), something possessed Holly, and it was as though she couldn’t stop herself from following.

  She found Brooke in the porch, wrestling with what looked to be a new winter jacket.

  “Hey, don’t leave on my account.”

  “Oh, I’m not—” Brooke bit off whatever excuse she was going to make, clearly deciding it wasn’t worth it. “I don’t belong here,” she said instead with a desultory shake of her head. “Seeing you just reminded me.”

  “Everyone belongs at Margie’s parties,” Holly countered. “She has a way of making you feel wanted, and welcome—even if she doesn’t always go about it the right way. Don’t go. How on earth were you thinking to get home, anyway? Aren’t you here with Janet?”

  “I was going to walk. It’s not far.” Holly certainly thought it was, especially in a growing storm, but apparently Brooke judged the distance worth it to be rid of the party.

  Holly began making mental calculations. It had been how long since that eggnog?

  “I’ll drive you,” she said.

  “What? No, don’t be silly. Stay and enjoy the party. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not having you walk all the way back to Lakeview in this, not on my account.”

  Holly could tell Brooke wanted to refuse, but one glance out of the window showed that the snow was really coming down now. Even a reasonably fit person—as Brooke was—would’ve found it inhospitable to trudge through. She sighed. “Okay, thanks.”

  Holly was almost relieved as they donned their coats and boots to head back outside. She would drive Brooke to Lakeview, and it might function as…well, not an apology—she didn’t owe an apology. But maybe a dialling back of their relationship to one not entirely characterised by antagonism? She’d do just about anything to get rid of the twist in her stomach every time she talked to, looked at, thought about Brooke Hawkins, so a car ride seemed like a fair price to pay.

  But it wasn’t to be. Holly’s gloved hand was on the doorknob, about to open the final barrier between them and the winter night, when from outside came a truly massive crashing sound, and they were plunged into darkness.

  There were shrieks from various people behind them, though Margie’s voice soon cut through the din. “All right, everyone calm down. No one’s lost any limbs or spilled on the coffee table, have they? It’s probably a tree branch on the power lines, no need to panic.”

  It was nothing as simple as a tree branch.

  Holly and Brooke, already at the front door, were the first to survey the damage. Brooke’s heart sank as she emerged—though the snow was thick and fast now, making it hard to even see the bottom of the drive, they could make out the looming silhouette of something considerably larger than a branch. On approach, things slowly resolved themselves, and Brooke cursed under her breath.

  “Shhhhhuttup,” Holly breathed.

  The crash had been the sound of the big old red maple that stood in Highfield’s garden finally giving in to the weight of its snow-laden branches. It had split more or less vertically down the middle where its two main branches began, one half still standing upright, while the other had pitched over onto the power line on the main street. The two poles either side had given way, collapsing in toward one another and creating a huge snarl of wood and cabling that appeared to have crushed at least two of the cars lining the street, and completely blocked Ardmachree’s drive.

  “I knew that tree should’ve come down years ago,” Brooke muttered, pulling her coat closer around her. Her mother wouldn’t have listened to her if she had said so. Heritage trees were one more thing she valued more than her own daughter’s opinion.

  “Well, it’s half down now,” Holly said, and despite everything Brooke could swear she heard amusement in her voice. Their approach was abruptly arrested by a shower of sparks from a transformer, and Holly jumped back a little. “Jesus…”

  “Careful,” Brooke said, putting out a hand reflexively to caution Holly. “Everybody should probably steer clear until the power company cleans this up. Whenever that might be.”

  They turned to see the other guests spilling out of the house, now, hubbub-ing in shock at the sight before them. Everyone began pulling out their phones—for photographs, to check on kids and family, and in a couple of cases to report the comprehensive destruction of their cars. Holly did the same, checking in on a babysitter, Brooke surmised from what she overheard. Folk were soon donning their outdoor clothes and taking their leave—except those whose cars had been crushed or blocked in by the fallen tree and utility poles. Some hitched rides with neighbours. Others opted to stay—Janet among them, which meant, of course, that Brooke wasn’t going anywhere either.

  Brooke wasn’t sure which car was Holly’s, but it appeared she was staying too, following everyone else inside in the dark, and immediately springing into action to help Margie, her phone currently serving as a flashlight. “You have candles? Lanterns?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, of course—though I had been meaning to stock up this year… I’m sure there’s plenty.”

  How a house this size managed to contain only a handful of candles and a solitary flashlight Brooke did not know.

  “I remember now we used a lot during that long power cut last February—d’you remember, Holly honey?” Margie called through from the kitchen as Holly and Brooke sifted through the contents of the many cabinets and drawers in the utility room.

  As the two “youngsters” still present, it appeared they had been given the job of dealing with the current crisis. The remaining half dozen partygoers had taken up their host’s offer of hot drinks and promptly retired to the lounge while Holly and Brooke had followed Margie to the kitchen. They hunted for more lighting solutions while Margie heated water in a pan on the gas stove in the flickering light of one of her few candles.

  Holly closed the last drawer with a sigh and headed back through to the kitchen, Brooke trailing after her for the want of a better idea.

  “Margie, we’ve looked everywhere, and I think that’s all, I’m sorry,” she said. “No more batteries, either—not the right size, anyway.”

  “Well, we can’t go stumbling around in the dark! Especially not Patricia—did you see how much eggnog she had?” Margie said conspiratorially. “She’ll break her ankle…again. Oh, I know! Brooke, honey, I’m sure your mom had a big emergency stash of batteries and whatnot, it’s probably still up at the house. She was always so well-prepared. Be a dear and nip over and get them, won’t you?”

  Brooke immediately bridled at this suggestion; heading out into the cold to Highfield was just about the last thing she wanted to do at that moment—at any moment, really. The house held nothing but bad memories and she doubted a late-night trip in a blizzard would do anything to dispel them. On the other hand, she could hardly refuse to look after a bunch of little old ladies in a blackout, could she?

  “Sure,” she sighed. “I might be a while; the snow’s pretty deep.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Holly said.

  “That won’t—”

  “Yes, yes, you’d better, Holly, we can’t have Brooke going out alone. There’s a gate between our yards up at the back of the house—it’s old but we used it all the time just fine. D’you have keys with you? Oh, of course you don’t, why would you? I’ll give you mine. Oh, what would I do without you two here to take care of us…?”

  Holly followed Brooke out into the driving snow toward her mother’s house. Though Highfield and Ardmachree were technically right next door, the actual houses were about a hundred yards apart, an expanse of shrubbery-dotted l
awn between the two. They tramped in silence through powdery, knee-deep snow, Brooke leading the way to the gate, though when they reached it, it was frozen shut and didn’t budge an inch.

  “I’ll boost you,” Holly offered, but Brooke was more than tall enough to simply brace on the fence and hop over, long legs swinging gracefully over its height. Holly, on the other hand…

  “Here, let me help.” They were both wearing gloves, but Holly could’ve sworn a static shock or some sort of electric tingle ran through her when their hands met. Blinking away her surprise, she refocused on wedging her foot on the slatted fence and scrambling over, helped by Brooke’s steady support.

  The ground was the same height on the other side, but over a foot deep in drifted snow, and so it was still further down than Holly expected as she stepped off the fence at the other side, sending her tumbling into Brooke. In that instant she had a sudden flashback to the café—off-balance, Brooke’s hand firm around her wrist. Details came to her now she hadn’t noticed then, all in a rush: the tiny sound of surprise Brooke had made as they’d almost collided, the slightest scent of Brooke’s hair and skin beneath the overpowering aroma of coffee.

  This time there was no stopping their collision; when Holly came back to the present moment she realised Brooke had her by the upper arms while her feet scrabbled for purchase, and she reached out blindly, the two women ending up in a clumsy embrace made all the more awkward by the many layers of padded clothing between them, like two Stay Puft men hugging.

  “I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” she said breathlessly as she found her feet. She stepped back and released Brooke to brace herself on the fence instead, heart still hammering. It’s just snow, calm down, you’re fine.

  “You sure?” Brooke asked. The barest hint of amusement in her voice was at once annoying and endearing. Holly’s stomach twisted in response. “We’ll come round the front on the way back, it’ll be easier.”